


Punctuation

by Owlship



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Menstrual Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Schmoop, Vaginal Fingering, orgasms are great for cramps (and stress relief), r.i.p. the world's last (non-diesel) vibrator, this might deserve a Menstruation Kink tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5266307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlship/pseuds/Owlship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Furiosa attempts to smother some painful cramps with orgasms; Max helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punctuation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [kinkmeme prompt](http://madmaxkink.dreamwidth.org/1730.html?thread=1304770#cmt1304770) asking for Max to help Furiosa out with some period cramps via orgasm.
> 
> Featuring a cameo by the world's last Hitachi, because if any type of vibe is gonna last through the wasteland it'll be one of those beasts and I just could not resist.

Furiosa's cycle comes and goes as it pleases, has never been beholden to the moon or any other measure she can figure out, but in return it's not particularly vicious. She will wake up with blood on her thighs and that will be the extent of it, a need to keep some extra cloths on hand to avoid ruining the leather of her trousers until it's run its course.

Usually.

It's been two days so far that she's been bleeding this cycle and the entire time there's been a slow-growing ache deep inside her gut, as if there's something sharp and rusty trapped up in her muscles trying to tear her to shreds with every move. Nowhere bad enough to trouble the healers for a pain remedy, just enough to have her gritting her teeth through every interaction until she can finally retreat back to her quarters and try to take care of it on her own.

She has a sachet of fire-warmed sand that she lays across the stretch of her lower abdomen but it's awkwardly shaped, means she has to position herself just _so_ and then not move any further. It also doesn't do much good even when she rucks up her shirt to lay it against bare skin, is not nearly as effective at relaxing her muscles as the living heat she would be able to leech from Max if he was here, already starts losing its warmth after only a few minutes.

Another jagged wave clenches and fuck it, she knows how to take care of this. Furiosa lets the useless sandbag slide away, kicks open the sturdy metal locker at the end of the bed. She has precious few personal effects worth keeping out of reach, but this was definitely one of them.

The plastic casing of the vibrator's handle is battered, worn and cracked in places, but she's tinkered with the motor inside often enough to know that it's tuned to just the right frequency. Her room, as befits her status as Imperator, has a single electric socket that ordinarily powers a lamp. That she almost never uses the lamp is of no consequence- the socket was invaluable, and she'd been diligent in making sure that it remained hooked into the Citadel's meager wire system, her one real indulgence.

She carefully inserts the plug into place, flicks the switch. A pleasant loud buzz rings out immediately, and Furiosa smiles to herself in anticipation.

It's not necessarily her favorite way to come- she thinks nothing will beat the thrill of someone between her thighs while she steers the War Rig (and oh, that's a memory to revisit for the next round, once she's taken the edge off)- but it's fast, and as long as it gets the job done she doesn't much care at the moment.

Even through the layers of leather and rags, the vibrations are strong when she presses the head of it against her mons, slides it further along until it's nestled perfectly between her legs. It's good, familiar against her vulva, wakes her clit up to attention. Her breath starts hitching faster, eyes falling closed as she adjusts the vibrator's position. In no time at all the deep rumbling has her hips twitching, grinding rhythmically as she seeks more, pulsing with desire as she chases down her orgasm.

Her climax builds, competes with the grip of cramping for attention, and she presses the vibrator down a little harder, tries to get it a little closer.

The motor sputters to a stop.

Furiosa snarls wordlessly in frustrated disbelief, clenches her hand around the plastic casing of the handle, snaps her eyes open. She wiggles the vibrator, hits it against the tensed muscles of her thigh to jolt it but the motor doesn't reengage, nor does flicking the switch on-off-on a little bit frantically elicit a reaction.

Fuck, she had been right on the edge! She slams the vibrator down onto the the mattress, resists the urge to smack it against the stone wall in hopes of jarring it back to life- it _might_ work, but it more likely would end with a shattered casing and still no fucking orgasm.

Her abdomen continues to ache, maybe a little more dully while her arousal is still dialed up, and Furiosa weighs her options. She knows, from long and cruel experience, that her hand alone won't be enough to get her over the edge. When she had two sets of fingers at her disposal it could be managed, but now- ah, no use bellyaching about it. She's in no mood to pull apart the vibrator and get it back in working order, not as keyed up and desperate as she feels, and the though of tromping down to the garages to steal away a bike is equally loathsome.

What she really wants, she thinks as she slides to lie down to the mattress, is for fucking Max to not be out on one of his trips but be back in bed with her, warm and solid and living, able to massage her muscles and coax her to orgasm without fucking failing on her like this piece of shit ancient vibrator.

She's still turned on, is the thing, and despite knowing how it'll end Furiosa can't help but slip her hand down the front of her leathers, tucks her fingers up into her slit. Her clit's hot and throbbing for it, slick with wetness and blood both and she starts circling, trying to find a stroke that will do more than just tease.

It's futile, her body wavering but never getting close enough no matter how she moves, until she wants to scream in frustration.

Someone tries to open the door and she snaps upright, hand removed from her cunt so quickly she leaves a dribble of blood smeared down the front of her shirt, instantly alert. She had the door locked, of course, and the only reason someone would try to open it without waiting for her to summon them inside is if they were trying to get the jump on her, or...

There's the metallic scrape of a key turning the tumblers of the lock, distinct from the frantic scratch of lock-picks, and there's only one person besides her who has a key to this room.

Furiosa stays tensed until she sees Max's face revealed in the doorway, tired and dirty and safe, and then she heaves out a sigh of relief because he is exactly what she wants to see. He startles a little, evidently not having expected her to be present, but draws himself fully inside with a faint smile, pleased to see her as well.

His eyes catch on her bloody hand, the discarded vibrator, and he quirks his head to the side, smile turning a little thoughtful, intrigued. He'd never come across her masturbating before, had either been who-knows-where in the wastes or right besides her from the start, and she spares a moment to wonder if it's anything he's ever thought about, out on his lonely car rides.

“Get over here, I'll welcome you properly,” Furiosa says, waving him closer, “You have great timing.”

He hums, sheds his jacket on the way over, ducks down to touch foreheads as soon as he's within range, one of his hands moving to cradle the nape of her neck. Furiosa tilts her head instead, surprises him by landing a kiss on his mouth, his lips lax for a moment while he catches up. She can't help but sigh in relief as he falls into step, presses back against her without any further hesitation.

And normally she wouldn't ask him for so much contact right as soon as he's come back from the wastes but Max isn't pulling away, is licking his way into her mouth hungrily, as if he'd been waiting to do so the entire time he was out on the sands. He's been gone just long enough for his beard to grow out and scratch at her face, pleasantly coarse against her skin, the aroma of his body salty and heady, more enticing than overwhelming for the moment.

It's good just having him within reach, knowing he's back safe and sound, but now he's here and making eager little sounds into the kiss as it grows deeper and fuck, she's still so turned on; kissing alone isn't going to sustain her for much longer. She tugs at his shirt until he folds himself onto the mattress besides her, lips sliding apart with a slick pop and a shared gasp.

“The vibrator broke before I could come,” she tells him and he makes a deep hungry noise, brings one of his warm large hands to press against the seam of her trousers where she's drawn tight in frustration. She can't really feel his fingers through the rags, has only a vague sense of pressure, and it's maddening how very close it is to what she needs and yet not nearly enough. Max's lips find hers again, devouring in his intensity, and she presses herself bodily against him, clamps her thighs closed around his ineffectual hand.

“I want your mouth,” Furiosa breathes into his ear when they slide apart next, and she can feel the way he shudders at that, the low groan that doesn't quite leave his throat. She already knows that her bleeding won't be a deterrent for him, that he's never shied from the taste of iron coating his tongue in these less-than-violent circumstances.

There's not much the sheets haven't seen already so she doesn't bother worrying about the inevitable staining as she peels away her trousers, piles the dirty cloths off to the side, settles to recline propped-up on their stash of pillows. Max leaves his own clothes but wastes time pulling off her shirt, starts unwinding the strips holding her breasts in place before she loses patience and shoves at his shoulder, wanting him _down_ already. Her cramps aren't quite as sharp as when she started, but they're still present enough that she wants them obliterated, and fast.

He huffs out an amused breath at her impatience but obliges, leaves off her chest to press a sloppy kiss to the skin over her lower belly, unerringly where the worst of the cramps are centered. One of his hands hauls her leg up and out of the way, splaying her open for him, the other slides through her folds- too light to do anything but tease, such a fucking smeg.

Furiosa is about to say something in complaint to urge him on when he finally lowers his mouth to her cunt, lips hot and soft and oh, just what she had wanted. She surges against him with a moan, hips flexing up into the friction of him mouthing at her, steady and determined. Max's tongue laps at her as if her blood and wetness was what would sustain him after long days in the wastes, drinks her down deeply. His fingers twist and move against her opening, her soft lips, her clit, send sharp spikes of pleasure straight through to her core.

He's not shy about using pressure, suction, the flats of his teeth and the callouses of his fingers, and it's hardly any time at all before she's cresting into her delayed orgasm, fucking _finally_. And maybe it's the relief or maybe it was the extra build-up but it's spectacular, bright crackling waves crashing over her while she cries out in pleasure.

“Keep going,” she demands breathlessly, rolling her hips up to chase the aftershocks, unwilling to stop until the cramps have been completely drowned out, until her entire body sings out in bliss.

Max hums in response while still pressed up close, which is frankly unfair, slides two of his fingers carefully up inside of her. She's more than wet enough for it to be a smooth glide but she's too sensitive to take much more inside when she's like this, won't be able to handle any sort of real stretch until after her cycle finishes. But his clever fingers pressing and rubbing just on the inside are a welcome sensation, on the edge of too much without tipping over, sure in their movements as they hone in on her g-spot.

Furiosa finishes shoving away the wrappings on her chest, plucks at her stiff nipples absentmindedly for the sparks it sends through her, most of her focus on the wet throbbing heat between her legs. Max's beard scratches a delightful contrast where it scrapes against the thin skin between her thighs, his free hand stroking down the length of her leg while his mouth works against her, coaxing her to keep herself open for him.

The second climax is quicker, not as drawn out but no less intoxicating, a weak shivery third following hard on its heels. She could keep driving for another, considers it even as she feels Max's movements continuing unabated, but the pain of her cramps has been replaced with just a low worn-out ache of satisfaction, pleasure buzzing around her skin, and perhaps it's time to return the favor.

She settles her hand into Max's hair, gives a gentle tug to encourage him up. Oh, he's a fucking mess when he lifts his head away from her cunt with a filthy slick noise, red-smeared and glistening, mouth slack and swollen plush. He pushes into her hand for a moment, like a dog being pet, but instead of moving up to kiss her again he drops back down with a wicked little grin.

“You don't-” she starts to say when that lush mouth lands back on her clit, is interrupted by him humming, deeply and with a purpose, fingers rubbing in a simple rhythm against her sensitive front walls.

It's good, so good, all hard-soft-pressure-friction until Furiosa builds back to another orgasm, more of a struggle when she's so worn out from already having come several times. She finds her hand moving to grip at Max's fingers where they dig into the curve of her hip, tangles their hands together and uses it as an anchor while she writhes against his mouth.

The pleasure rising to a crest again is inexorable in the face of his steady determination as he works at her expertly, know just where and when and how to touch. His fucking _humming_ sounding out in broken intervals is what pushes her over the edge, has her shouting his name as she comes again because fuck, this was exactly what she needed, all her nerves singing out at the same time, lighting her up from the inside out.

Max finally leaves off after that, once her cunt's stopped spasming in aftershocks, crawls over the length of her body with a dumb pleased smile on his red face. He pauses to nip at her exposed breasts, sucking one of her nipples into his hot wet mouth, but she jerks his head up the rest of the way to taste herself on his fucked-out lips.

She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of the way blood and sex taste together, iron and salt and musk that speak to all her most primal drives, especially not when she's licking it off this particular man's skin.

Furiosa wraps her left arm around Max's chest, holds him steady in place while she brings her hand down to where she knows she'll find him hard and waiting in his trousers, gives the length of him a squeeze through the leather just to hear the noise he makes. Half growl, half sigh muffled against her lips, he doesn't disappoint. The hand he isn't propping himself up with joins hers, undoes the laces to free his erection, thick and hot and leaking wetly at the tip.

It always pleases her, knowing that just eating her out is enough to get him hard, that if she wanted him to rut off against the sheets and come without her help he'd do so gladly. For now she's happy to take him in hand, soft skin over hard flesh, sucking the taste of herself off his tongue while she twists him undone.

Max always comes silently, just sucks in a shocked inhale of air as if he can't believe what's happening to him, body stiffening while his cock spurts out his release.

He collapses down into her after, doesn't seem to care about the mess that will cover the clothes he's still wearing, just sinks down until he's stretched warm and solid and heavy against her, head lolling down to rest in the curve of her neck where he presses lazy idle kisses. His hands slide to fit themselves to the curve of her ribcage, leave sticky red smears positively everywhere.

“Welcome home,” Furiosa says with some amusement; her voice turns softer, honest, “I missed you.”

“Mm too,” he mumbles against her skin, the first actual words he's said since she last saw him, and she smiles to hear them.

She's loose and languid in the afterglow, cramps a distant memory, and she could pull herself up and face the world again, but- no one will be looking for them, not if they've seen his car drive up, and the door's locked besides; a nap sounds like a perfect idea.

It takes a little persuading but Max untangles himself long enough to strip bare, uses his already-stained shirt to wipe off the worst of the blood and cum smeared across their skin. Furiosa tucks the rags back against herself because there was no sense to be had in ruining the mattress further if she didn't have to, and sinks into the warm embrace of his arms, relaxes into the feel of skin on skin.

One of his hands kneads at the small of her back where her cramps have gone silent in the face of bone-deep satisfaction, the warmth from his bared belly pressing deep into her own skin, and yeah, this was definitely better than relying on warmed sand.


End file.
